Kent Bush: The older I get, the more I respect Dad

Wednesday

Many have said something similar, but Tim Russert said it well with his understated but spot on description, "The older I get, the smarter my father seems to get."

Many have said something similar, but Tim Russert said it well with his understated but spot on description, "The older I get, the smarter my father seems to get."

I never thought my father was stupid. I just thought I was a lot smarter than it turned out I really was.

I was born the youngest child of two youngest children. Both of my grandfathers shared the name "William," but I never met either of them. I only knew one grandparent and she had married my grandfather after his first wife had died. There was a big age difference between the two and that allowed me to get to know my mom's mother.

I wasn't the youngest of three children who were all in high school at the same time. My sister is 11 years older than me.

My father was almost 35 when I was born. That is why as a 40-year-old, I get to go back to Oklahoma this week to celebrate his 75th birthday.

It's almost impossible to believe he is 75. He still works harder than most of the people who will read this column. My ability to work crazy hours without blinking comes from him. I remember him working the night shift at his plant, coming home to watch the Price is Right and then going to his room for a few hours of sleep before he cleaned several office buildings as a private janitorial contractor.

He always worked out his schedule to be at our sporting events and practices - even if it was his sleeping hours that were sacrificed.

As hard as he worked, my dad also knows how to have fun. There was always a baseball or basketball game in our yard. Most of my friends learned how to bat from my dad in that back yard. Heck, one of my friends is left-handed, but we didn't really know it and we didn't have a left-handed batter's box anyway so dad taught him to bat right-handed. He still swings his golf clubs right-handed to this day.

Dad also made sure we mixed in some fun on the weekends when we would frequently find our way to a cattle pond for some fishing before we went to clean a few more offices.

To this day, Dad jumps on the tube behind a boat during our entire family's weeklong lake excursions. He can also still lap the field in putt-putt even though he is the only male in our family never to take up golf.

I never really got an allowance. I got paid for dumping trashcans and cleaning out ashtrays on Saturday mornings. I learned very clearly that money doesn't come from asking for it, but rather from working harder.

Some other great memories I have of my dad include always looking forward to mom's birthday or their anniversary. Almost every occasion resulted in a funny greeting card to mark the event.
To this day, I can't buy a sappy poetic greeting card. If you get a card from me, there will be a goofy joke on it. There has to be.

As hard as Dad worked, you could tell which chores he really didn't like to do because he would feign ignorance.

Vacuum the entire house. no problem. Mow our yard and maybe one nearby for someone who needed the help. sure.

Wash a load of laundry. he didn't know how. Of course, if the washing machine acted up, he could take it apart and repair it and put it back in place like new. I guess those start and stop buttons were confusing even if the internal electronics and plumbing systems weren't.

He also claimed not to know how to cook, but if you've ever had my mom's cooking, you wouldn't want to do anything to let her skip preparing a meal either.

Dad also taught me how to give. He volunteers like nobody's business. Currently, he works at a local soup kitchen several days a week and helps gather provisions for people who need them. I also remember a time when a friend of our family was unemployed and was having a lot of trouble feeding his family.

Through his work at Pet Milk Inc., Dad had access to some Pet brand products like frozen waffles and other food that really helped their family make ends meet. He took care of them for months in that way.

Not long after the man got back on his feet, he advanced from county employee to barn foreman and eventually served 10 years as county commissioner.

My personality is a very interesting blend of my parents with a few rough edges that have been added in almost two decades in journalism.

Most little boys look up to their fathers, but when they grow up and see their father man-to-man, they see that he wasn't what they had built him up to be in their imaginations.

I have had the opposite realization.

The older I get, the more respect I feel for my father.

He is small in stature and quiet in demeanor but he is one of the biggest men I know and his actions speak for themselves.

One of my favorite memories is when a man from my hometown was taking issue with something I had said in a column, he discovered that I was the son of the man he knew and respected.

"Your Kenneth Bush's son?" he asked, somewhat amazed. After I responded in the affirmative, he said, "Well, he is a really nice man."

He was still mad at me, but just knowing my dad softened his response.

When my son makes me proud I often find myself hoping that I have given my dad a few moments of joy over the years.

If I ever become half the man he is, the world will be better for it.

Happy birthday, Dad, and many more to come.

Kent Bush is publisher of the Augusta (Kan.) Gazette.

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